Mistletoe Magic, A Christmas Regency Short Story Page 3

  As the first dance in the set ended and the second began, nervous anticipation filled him with thoughts of how he’d linger with Evelyn, then lead her underneath the mistletoe, turn and kiss her, then remove his mask. Would she be glad to see the face of her childhood friend? Would she be angry he’d deceived her? Disappointed that he wasn’t Michael? Perhaps he shouldn’t do it at all. Perhaps he should reveal his identity first, then declare his intentions, like an honorable gentleman. Yet, when she looked at him, she only saw her childhood playmate. She never seemed to see him as a man. Kissing her without identifying himself may be the only way he could break through her preconceived notions and show her he was a man and she was the only one for him.

  “...do you, sir?”

  He looked down at his partner. “Forgive me, what did you say?”

  The lady let out sigh, “I said, do you often ride to hounds?”

  “Er, yes, I do enjoy the hunt, although truth be told, I prefer riding without the goal of catching anything and without all that barking.”

  She frowned. “Oh.”

  He glanced at Evelyn who stood at the end of the line, waiting until the formation brought her and her partner back into the dance. As she chatted and laughed with her partner, Evelyn turned to him with a secretive smile.

  When the dance ended, he thanked his partner and escorted her back to where she’d been standing. As he returned to the dance floor, Evelyn waited at the edge, her fingers fidgeting.

  He sidled up to her. “Nervous, dear lady?”

  She pressed her lips together and ducked her head, then as if gathering her courage, squared her shoulders. “No, of course not. It’s only a dance, after all.”

  “And dinner.”

  “And dinner. Nothing to fear.”

  He grinned and held out a hand. She looked up at him, her eyes wide as saucers through the eyeholes of her mask. She blinked and slowly placed her hand in his. Even through her gloves, her hands were cold.

  He gently closed his fingers over her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to waltzing with you all evening.”

  Her mouth curved upward tremulously and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, drawing his attention. Dragging his gaze from her mouth, he drew her in closer and guided her into waltz dance position. Her breath hitched. As the music began, he took that first step forward. She followed beautifully, each step fluid and light, but her shoulders remained rigid.

  He rather liked that she was nervous; perhaps she was remembering their banter and his mention of the mistletoe and a kiss, which only proved she didn’t go around kissing every man who turned her head.

  With her gaze averted, she said nothing.

  Smiling, Colin leaned in. “Relax. I vow I won’t bite you. In all my years, I’ve never bitten anyone.”

  She looked up at him and her lips twitched. “Have you ever been tempted to do so?”

  “Not precisely. Nibble perhaps, but not bite.”

  Those shapely lips curved. “There’s a difference, I suppose?”

  He dropped his voice to a seductive tone. “Most definitely.”

  “And you’ve recently had this temptation to nibble?”

  “I currently have it.”

  She probed him with her gaze. “Do you plan to give in to it, sir?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “The person I’d like to nibble.”

  She glanced around as if to see if anyone might overhear but he’d kept his voice lowered so there would be no risk of that. No doubt all the other dancing couples were having similar, or more explicit, exchanges.

  She moistened her lips. “You play dangerously, sir.”

  He nodded. “I don’t normally, but something about you brings out that otherwise unexplored side of me.”

  He found himself the object of another scrutiny. “Then you don’t....er....”

  “Make such outrageous suggestions to every lady with whom I dance? No, most certainly not. In fact, if I weren’t fairly certain of your identity, I wouldn’t be speaking this way. I’m merely following a desire I’ve had for quite some time now.”

  She digested that momentarily. “I’m fairly certain of your identity, as well.”

  “I hope you aren’t disappointed when we remove our masks.”

  She finally smiled then. “No, I’m confident I won’t be.”

  “You give me courage.”

  “Then you’re not a rake.”

  “No. I admit I’m a flirt, which some people have mistaken as rakishness, but I assure you, I’m not a roué.”

  The waltz ended and their steps came to a halt. He held her longer than necessary, reluctant to let her out of his arms. When dinner was announced, the room emptied as couples filed around them. They remained motionless, their gazes locked.

  He finally, reluctantly, released her, and gestured toward the ballroom doors. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and took his offered arm. “Yes indeed.”

  In the doorway, right underneath the mistletoe, he stopped and turned to her. “We’re underneath the mistletoe.”

  She looked up and her breath caught. “So we are.”

  “I’ve heard mistletoe is magical on Christmas Eve.”

  “Really? Perhaps we should test that theory.”

  “I agree.”

  He touched her cheek, caressing the soft skin. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he cradled her. His heart thudded wildly. At long last, he would finally kiss the girl he’d loved forever. The only girl he’d ever loved. And now she was a woman. She rested her hands on his chest, one over his heart. After moistening her lips, she lifted her face up toward him, her lips lightly parted. He leaned in. Her breath grew ragged, and her pulse fluttered in her neck. She closed her eyes. He leaned downward, seeking the sweetness of her mouth. He lightly brushed his lips over hers. Tingles spiraled outward. She was warm and sweet and oh, so soft. She let out a tiny sigh.

  One kiss was not enough. He kissed her a second time using a firmer pressure. She responded, innocently, hesitantly, but as his kiss grew more hungry, she responded with a fervor that surprised him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, devouring her mouth, pouring into the kiss all the love in his heart and hoping she understood.

  When he finally ended the kiss, he kissed her cheeks, but his lips found the hard edge of her mask. Her mask. She still didn’t know who he was. She probably thought he was Michael.

  From the dining room just down the corridor, came the host’s voice. “And now, let us remove our masks.”

  “It’s time,” he whispered.

  Cold dread clutched his heart. Would she hate him for deceiving her? Would she be glad it was he?

  She lifted her mask and removed it, her smile uncertain. With a bracing breath that did nothing to quiet the nervous clenching in his stomach, he lifted his mask.

  She blinked, her brows drawn together. “You?” Then her eyes widened. “You!” She took several breaths. “You deceived me.”

  He held his expression solid when he wanted to wince. “It’s a masquerade ball. I never once told you anything false, nor fed you information to make you believe I was anyone other than who I am.”

  “But you....I....oh!” She turned and fled across the ballroom to the terrace doors.

  Colin stood, holding his mask, his heart lying on the floor in ruins.

  Chapter 5

  Evelyn dashed across the ballroom floor and out through the French doors to the darkened terrace outside. After running to the edge of the terrace, she stood gripping the freezing railing, her breath coming in white puffs.

  A myriad of emotions buffeted her. How could he? Colin, her childhood friend, how could he? She trusted him, and yet he’d flirted with her like some kind of....

  She couldn’t even put a name to what he’d done. Tears burned her eyes and left hot trails down her cheeks that quickly cooled to streaks of ice. She stared out over the frozen garden, illuminated by the bright, ful
l moon. The silver light fell on the snow-covered trees and shrubbery where all lay as if dead. She put her hand over her face and wept. She’d had such high hopes for this evening, such dreams of finally kissing the perfect man under the mistletoe and showing him that they belonged together. Instead, Colin had played a cruel game on her.

  Soft footsteps tapped on the flagstone behind her, and with a rustle of fabric, a frockcoat was laid over her shoulders.

  “Come inside, Evie,” Colin’s voice rumbled. “It’s cold out here.”

  She let out sob. “I can’t.”

  He stood beside her so close that the heat of his body soaked into hers. Leaning on the railing, he looked at her. “Why can’t you?” he asked softly.

  She turned her head away so he was out of her peripheral vision. “Because you.....I.....” she ended on a new sob.

  “Evie, I didn’t lie to you. I meant every word I said.”

  She looked at him then. As he leaned on his elbow on the railing with his face only inches from hers, his gaze searched her face.

  She sniffled. “But you....”

  “You thought I was someone else.”

  She nodded and shuddered in a breath.

  “Michael Cavenleigh.”

  She nodded again.

  “And you don’t know me well enough to know it was I?”

  “Well, I admit I wasn’t completely certain that I was dancing with Michael Cavenleigh, but it never occurred to me that it was you.”

  “Never? Not once?” With the pads of his thumb, he gently wiped away her tears.

  She opened her mouth to deny, but then thought back. Michael and Colin were of similar height and build, so that wouldn’t have been any clue. He was wearing the gold half-mask—exactly what she’d expected Michael to wear. With so much of their heads covered, she couldn’t have known from their hair or faces. And the first time they’d danced, he’d been so solemn, like Michael, until they’d begun to flirt. Yet, there were times when he’d seemed comfortable and familiar. And his laugh. She wanted to smack her own forehead. That low rumbling chuckle was pure Colin. She’d only wanted to believe it belonged to Michael.

  Sniffing, she drew a breath. “I suppose I’d assumed you were Michael, so I’d overlooked all the clues.”

  He nodded, his normally jovial expression solemn. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Did you know?”

  He nodded and let out a long exhale, his breath making great clouds in the night air. “I suspected you thought I was him, but I’d hoped when I kissed you that you’d realize how much I care for you and that you’d finally see me, not as your childhood friend, but as man...a man who loves you.”

  She blinked at him, hardly comprehending his words. “Love me?”

  His smile grew tender and he wiped away another tear on her cheek. “I always have. From the time you whacked me over the head with a stick when I was seven, I knew there was no other girl for me.”

  “So tonight...”

  “Tonight, I’d hoped if I could flirt with you, then kiss you, without you knowing who I was, that you’d finally see me as a man and not just your little playmate from years ago.”

  She shivered and pulled his coat more tightly around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Evie. I never wanted that. But I’m not sorry I kissed you. It was even better than I’d imagined.”

  She looked up at him, and he grinned, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. His teeth. No one had as beautiful teeth as the men in Colin’s family; she’d even identified his father by that smile. She had no idea what Michael’s smile was like, nor the condition of his teeth. He’d been away at school most of her childhood and she barely knew him. Lately, he never smiled due to his terrible heartbreak with his betrothed. But Colin’s smile lit up an entire house, and he frequently did it.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Colin leaned in, a wicked grin curving his moth and mischief gleaming in his eyes. “But you seemed to enjoy the kiss.”

  She let out a huff but recalled his hand on her face, touching her so tenderly, his lips on hers, kissing her with a gentle passion she’d never dreamed, and his arms around her, pulling her close to his body. She’d felt safe and exhilarated. She’d felt like she’d come home.

  One of his brows lifted. “I see by your blush that I’m right.”

  “You can’t see me blushing—it’s too dark.”

  “Trust me, I know when you’re blushing. I can feel the heat of it from here.”

  She let out a small cry of outrage, then dissolved into laughter. This was Colin. Her playmate, the one who’d taught her to swim, the one who’d comforted her when she’d been frightened of the dogs, the one who’d pulled her out of the ice at his own peril, the one who’d kissed her like a man in love.

  The man she loved in return.

  She’d just been too blind to realize it. He’d always been there, her friend, her confidant, her comforter.

  Colin wrapped his arms around her. “I do love you, Evie. I always have and I always will.”

  “I love you, Colin. I just never realized it.”

  He kissed her again, this time without a mask, without pretense, without guile. He was simply Colin. Her friend. Her love. She immersed herself into his kiss and the whole world faded away until there was nothing but Colin, his warm, masculine, woodsy scent; his soft, insistent lips; his gentle, strong hands.

  A voice clearing nearby broke through the haze of pleasure.

  He finally released her with a groan, and kissed her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. “Evie, will you marry me?”

  “Yes, of course I will.”

  “Good, because your father is glowering at us. I’d best ask his permission to marry you before he has me drawn and quartered.”

  She turned her head to see her father standing in the doorway, his arms folded, his toe tapping. She giggled. Her father’s stern expression softened momentarily before he corrected it.

  Colin put his arm around her and they faced her father together. “Sir, is there a place where we may speak in private? I’d very much like to ask permission to marry your daughter.”

  “It’s about time,” her father grumbled. “I thought you two would never figure that out.”

  They laughed and Colin led her back toward the ballroom. She realized then he had no frockcoat, he wore only his shirt and waistcoat.

  She removed it from her shoulders and handed it back. “Here, you must be cold.”

  “No, I assure you, I am quite warm.” He grinned, that infectious, irresistible grin. “Although, I do have one request of you.”

  “Anything.”

  “I really do need a new muffler.”

  “I’ll knit you one in every color.” She grinned snuggled into him. “But only if your mother gives me the recipe for her wassail.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  Arm in arm, they went back inside to the ball, dinner, and their new life together.

  About the author:

  Donna Hatch's passion for writing began at age 8 when she wrote her first short story. During her sophomore year in high school, she wrote her first full-length novel. Her writing has won or been nominated as a finalist in many writing awards including the Golden Rose and the prestigious Golden Quill. In between caring for six children, (7 counting her husband), her day job, and her many volunteer positions, she manages to carve out time to indulge in her writing obsession. A native of Arizona, she writes Regency Romance and Fantasy. And yes, all of her heroes are patterned after her husband of over 21 years, who continues to prove that there really is a happily ever after.

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  Here is a sneak Peak of The Reluctant Bride, a Regency Romance short story by Donna Hatch

  England 1815

  Abby shifted, bumping both her head and her knee, and reached two conclusions: first, the storage compartment of a mail coach was no way to travel; and second, she was a very great fool.

  What had she been thinking stowing away? Now she was alone, without a friend, and her parents were probably cursing her to high heaven. Moreover, Aunt Millicent might not be pleased to see Abby appear unexpectedly on her doorstep. Aunt Millicent may be even less pleased to learn Abby had defied her father and fled her impending marriage. At home, this idea of a grand adventure had seemed so exciting, and the perfect solution for avoiding that hateful man to whom her parents had betrothed her as a child.

  In the crowded compartment, Abby shifted in another failed attempt to ease her aching limbs. Her toes were numb and her stomach growled so loudly she feared it might alert the passengers riding inside.

  With every painful, jarring mile, her courage faded. What was worse—running away or facing the terrifying man she was meant to marry? Perhaps she should have stayed and tried harder to find a satisfactory resolution instead of running like a coward.

  At least as Lady Rosenburg, she’d be fed and warm. Unless the rumors were true. A shiver crawled up her spine. Maybe he would throw her into the dungeon or starve her to death. Or beat her. She tried to wiggle the feeling back into her toes and imagined all the ways a cruel husband could make her life miserable.

  The carriage came to a rolling halt. Voices rose and fell, voices of the driver and the passengers unfortunate enough to secure travel aboard this rattling trap. A posting inn. It had to be. Perhaps here she could make her escape and purchase passage on a different coach, inside this time. Surely she was far enough from home that her movements would not be traced. Hopefully, no one would remember her face if asked.